


Shrike

by Ratclowns



Category: DCU (Comics), Teen Titans - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, It's really messed up, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome, Unhealthy Relationships, Whipping, apprentice au, background titans just doing their best, dubcon, no one dies (yet), robin is groomed into slade's apprentice au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-18 17:40:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18124418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ratclowns/pseuds/Ratclowns
Summary: Apprentice AU wherein Slade spends months breaking Robin down and building him back up into the perfect mercenary pet. It's real messed up, please know that going in, Slade is not a healthy relationship person, it's all very manipulative, but also horny





	1. Singing Like a Bird About it Now

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to my anonymous co-writer who took on all the titans east parts and gave me permission to throw this out in the world. you can follow my problematic twitter @ratclowns for more slade hornt content
> 
> title comes from Shrike by Hozier which is a very Robin song

Robin’s vision swims.

The alleyway, dim already with the rain that fell heavy overhead, darkens further. He sways on his feet before dropping to his knees, losing his balance to even stay upright. When he looks up, his vision doubles. His eyes fall on the man in front of him, struggling to follow the man’s form as it approached him.

Slade seems to gloat, speaking slowly to allow Robin the time to understand. Even so, Robin’s head is cloudy and he has to focus to grasp the meaning behind Slade’s words.

“It’s not the way I wanted to do this, Robin, but I’m afraid we don’t have the luxury of time.”

From his knees, Robin slowly drops to his elbows and then on his side. It’s like his limbs won’t obey him, mind screaming to move, fight, anything. His eyes feel heavy, weighted, and Robin finds himself losing the battle to keep them open. Every time he blinks, Slade moves closer and closer until Robin, unable to even lift his head, struggles to raise a hand to strike Slade. Instead, he can only grasp at Slade’s ankle.

“You’re fighting so hard, Robin. Just let go.”

He’s vaguely aware he’s being lifted, in some faraway part of his mind that is still yelling at him to stay awake. Robin takes one more look at the man before succumbing to a drugged, dead sleep.

Slade crushes the communicator under his boot as he walks away, and in a fit of something like possessiveness decides to do the same with Robin’s bo staff. As it cracks loudly under his heel, Robin twitches in his sleep, slung easily over Slade’s shoulder. Slade places one hand on Robin’s back as if to soothe him, the rain making his uniform cling tightly to his skin. He’d have to be dried off and redressed once they reached the safehouse.

Slade moves easily from shadowed alley to rooftop to rooftop even with Robin’s dead weight at his shoulder. It takes longer to stay out of sight, but before long the derelict apartment building Slade keeps as a safehouse comes into view. Empty but for the birds that nest on the roof, it’s the perfect place to hide and train away from prying eyes. Slade enters through the door on the roof, locking it tightly behind him.

The outer apartments had windows that faced the street, blinds shut tightly to give the illusion of a property so condemned not even squatters wanted to be there. Even if they tried, the glass was bulletproof, the rooms behind them facades that hid the real interior, and the one door at street level was reinforced steel and concrete. Slade had remodeled the interior to be more than comfortable; he had bedrooms, a gym lined with sparring mats, showers he allowed himself to luxuriate in. There was even food, enough to last for months without leaving.

And if Robin didn’t cooperate, there was a single prison cell reinforced to hold even metahumans that Slade had never had the opportunity to use.

He holds out hope, even as Robin lays drugged beside him, that the boy would come around sooner rather than later. He knew there were certain ideals Robin kept close, and only time could break those down. Slade anticipated several days of outright refusal to cooperate, followed by a gradual loss of hope that his friends would ever return for him. That was the perfect state to train Robin in; malleable from his friend’s betrayal, in need of someone, anyone to help him.

Slade had seen his reactions when the boy had apprenticed under him: heart racing while he fought, true face seen only in the thick fog of physical attack; leaning into Slade’s hand on the back of his neck, his cheek, as though chasing the touch; body rigid and taught whenever Slade said, “Father,” or “Master,” or “Good Boy.”

Of course, Robin couldn’t see it himself, Slade thinks. It would be an important weakness to exploit, one Slade could be certain would get the results he wanted. He allows himself to trace the mask on Robin’s unconscious face, feeling the rough material. It’d be easy enough to expose the boy’s face, but Slade finds it more rewarding in the long term to make Robin do it himself later on as a test of loyalty. Plans upon plans of how to best break him down and build him up; Slade had spent months thinking of exactly how to do it.

Robin was not the same skinny teenager he was the last time they fought; Slade could see plainly how much he had aged in the year Slade had been working elsewhere. Stuck in the throes of adulthood, attached to an unchanging name; how cruel. The boy had certainly outgrown the title of Teen Titan by now. Slade spares himself a smile at the thought of Robin leading the Teen Titans at 30, 40, 50 years old. A human amongst Demigods, Aliens, Monsters. Slade wonders briefly if augmenting Robin in the future might be worthwhile, then decides his loyalty is a more pressing issue.

Robin wouldn’t wake for hours yet, giving Slade the time he needs to prepare him. Slade peels the soaked clothing off Robin’s sleeping form, toweling off his hair and redressing him in simple black workout gear. The next few months would see Robin in this clothing more than out of it; Slade’s training schedule didn’t allow for much relaxation.

Once redressed, Slade throws Robin once more over his shoulder and moves him to the cell he’ll call home for a while. Gingerly laying him down on a shabby mattress on the floor (a kindness, he thinks, that can be revoked quickly and easily) he cuffs Robin’s hands with a strong lock to a metal loop fixed into the wall above the head of the mattress. The cuffs have no visible lock, just a magnetic interface Robin can’t easily pick apart. Slade smiles knowing that if Robin wants to escape them, he’d have to find another, more interesting way to do it.

Slade takes his leave then, showering and changing into a dry uniform. He allows himself to daydream about a time when he won’t even feel the need to wear a mask around the boy, his last bit of leverage meaningless to an ally.  What good would knowing his face be to Robin after this anyway? Slade has no doubt he’s finished with this cat-and-mouse game he’s played. Robin could dissect him, know him inside and out, and still have no hope of ever beating him. Slade always had the advantage.

These things take time, of course, and Slade thinks on how long it will take Robin to earn his rewards. Seeing Slade’s face would need to be worked up to; he predicted months at least. It would be a shame to cover himself constantly in his own sanctuary, but the benefits far outweigh the negatives. He imagines the day Robin removes the domino mask covering his eyes and seeing the boy fully: then and only then will Slade reveal his own face.

He checks the perimeter of the building to assure himself that they weren’t followed before a scream rings through the building, voice ripped bare with rage.

Good, Robin was awake.

 

~

 

“Cyborg, behind you!” Starfire screams. He manages to duck as a chunk of concrete soars past his head. Raven catches it with her powers and spins, whipping the debris back at the sickly creature that emerged from the hillside. It was some kind of human, probably, bipedal but giant and thin and pale, with too many arms. Cyborg blasts one of its knees with the cannon on his arm, making it stagger and scream.

“Beast Boy, go!” Cyborg yells, fitting his hands together to give the boy a boost into the air.

He soars, his form changing and shifting until he’s nearly tripled in size, taking the form of an ape. With his mouth open, he smashes downward and topples the burly monster backwards.

“Star, now!” Cyborg commands, and Starfire obeys, throwing bolt after bolt of pure energy at the creature. They make direct contact and the creature howls before doubling over. Raven bends the steel frames of the street lights lining the road around the monster, until he’s immobile. He lets out another guttural screech but can’t escape the bonds.

“Great work, team,” Cyborg smiles.

“I do not wish to be “The Bummer” but...where is Robin?” Starfire asks. Each Titan takes a minute to scan the rubble, smoldering in the rain. The fight had stayed in the same general area, limiting the destruction but also places Robin could go.

“He was here when we started,” Beast Boy scratches his head. “Why would he just ditch us in the middle of a battle? That’s not like him.”

“No, it’s not.” _Not anymore,_ Cyborg concedes, fear pooling in his gut. Despite the water sloughing off his back he feels overheated. “Let’s split up and see if we can find any signs of where he’s gone. I’ll see if I can track his communicator. Rae, you and Star get an aerial view. BB, see if you can find a scent to track. And keep in touch.”

“Right,” Star says, taking flight. Beast Boy shifts easily into the form of a dog, padding off.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Raven whispers, before she too leaves by air to search.

“Me too.” Cyborg says, but no one hears. He can’t help but be drawn back into memories of Robin’s disappearance just a couple years back, when he’d fallen into Slade’s hands. He remembers trying to track Robin down only to face him head on as a villain. They hadn’t given up hope then and he certainly wouldn’t allow himself to give up now, but the similarities in the situations make his circuits light up with caution. It couldn’t be Slade again.

At least, Cyborg hoped it wasn’t.

Honing in on the signal from Robin’s communicator gave him something to focus on. It wasn’t far, and Robin might still be there, needing his help.

Cyborg runs as fast as he can, following his GPS down abandoned side streets and alleys. He blinks the rain from his eye and calls the others while he runs.

“Got a lock on Robin’s last known location. I’m sending you the coordinates now.”

“I am already here,” Starfire says mournfully, landing at the mouth of an alley’s dead end. She picks up the item that drew her attention from the air: a shiny metal bow staff, broken jaggedly in half. “Robin is not.”

She walks through the shadowed corridor, trash and litter lining the ground. Beneath her feet, puddles of rainwater mix with the city’s grime and wash away any footprints. Beast Boy gives up on finding a scent to follow.

“Robin?” Starfire yells. It echoes down the alleyway and against each building nearby. She feels as though the entire city is deserted. Robin could be miles away by now.

She feels a crushing sense of guilt, as though she could have stopped this. If only she had fought harder, they could have gotten here sooner. If she had seen clearly enough through her own vision that Robin wasn’t there… she could have stopped this.

Starfire hangs her head and continues to scan the alley, energy surrounding her hand lighting her path in green.

“Starfire?” Cyborg yells. He sees her crouched near the dead end of the alley, picking something up off the ground.

“Did you find something?” He asks, walking towards her. She doesn’t move until he puts his hand on her shoulder and asks softly, “Star?”

She turns and he sees that she’s crying, fat round tears that fall easily down her cheeks. In her hands is what remains of Robin’s communicator; shards and wires.

 

~

 

Robin’s voice, already hoarse from the sedatives, is harshened even more by his screaming when Slade finally appears at his cell.

“I’m glad you’re awake, Robin. Did you sleep well?” His voice is smooth and cool as always, making Robin’s blood boil. No one else had the ability to make him so angry; it gripped his chest in fire, traveled down his limbs until Robin was itching to do anything to make Slade suffer.

Anything to stop the rage he felt.

  
“Where am I?! Why did you take me here?” Robin yells, despite the ache in his throat. This was what Slade did to him, make him work through any pain with sheer force of will. His wrists ached from the steel binding them, securing his arms above his head and making them burn with the strain.

“Patience, my boy. Did you already forget the lessons we established before?”

Robin doesn’t answer, instead testing his bonds. He had no way to pick the lock, but there was always another way. Bruce taught him that.

He jerks one hand into his thumb, a severe crack ringing out in the room. Bent and dislocated, he pulls his hand from the cuff with a yelp of pain.

“I remember…” Robin grits out, panting from exertion. He runs his free hand up to wrench his other thumb out of socket, liberating them both with another grunt of distress. He takes a moment to thrust each finger back into place and nearly curls in on himself with the agony of it, his teeth firmly gritted. “I remember everything.”

Slade takes a step closer to the cell and Robin lunges, trying to grab through the bars. His shoulder burns from pressing into the steel as he swings wildly, Slade just out of reach.

“It’s been _years_ and you’re still this obsessed with me?! Why? Why come back after all this time?” His face flushes with anger and he keeps trying to stretch to attack Slade, like an animal in a zoo.

“It seems I’m not the only one who missed our little fights, my dear boy.” Robin hates the implication and pulls his arm back. If he’d fantasized about going against Slade again it was only because he wanted closure. He wanted the feeling of taking a villain down, someone evil unable to hurt anyone else. It was not because he enjoyed their fights, and it wasn’t obsession on Robin’s part; Robin would rather die before he admitted he wanted to face Slade again.

“Answer me!” It’s more a plea than a demand. Robin hates it.

“I’m pleased to see you’ve still got that hot-headed determination. It’s going to be so fun to finally break you down once and for all…”

“You’re not going to get the chance.” Robin grits his teeth as Slade turns on his heel.

“We’ll see how you feel after you have some time to think about it. Just call for me when you change your mind.”

Slade saunters off down the corridor and Robin hears the sound of a heavy metal door shutting and a lock sliding into place. So, he thinks, even if he could escape the cell he’d have to find a way out of whatever secure hellhole Slade felt safe enough to operate from.

Robin lays back on the thin mattress, rubbing his wrists and hands to soothe the throbbing. Slade hadn’t given him a blanket and his uniform was nowhere to be found; the clothes he is dressed in are skintight and meant to facilitate airflow when working out. He is cold, and getting colder.

Robin curls against himself and tries to think of anything that might help him escape. The cell is concrete on all sides save for the bars, several locks keeping the door firmly shut. There wasn’t a bed frame he could use for parts or even a sink to take a pipe from. There was a metal toilet in one corner, but even that was clearly made so he couldn’t disassemble it. The handcuffs still bolted to the wall were his best bet of making some kind of lockpick, and the metal wouldn’t yield to his fingers alone.

Robin’s mind races while his body winds down. He’s sore and exhausted, the dreamless drugged sleep offering no real rest. Without windows he had no idea what time it is; no idea how long Slade had kept him unconscious. Robin shivers against the cold and falls into a fitful sleep.

When he awakens, he expects Slade to be there. Instead, Robin is greeted by no changes, the cell exactly the same as when he fell asleep. He doesn’t know how long he slept for, only that his stomach aches and his throat is parched. There’s no water in the cell, no sink to drink from. Even the toilet is dry.

Robin tries to breathe through it. Fear creeps up his spine at the idea of Slade leaving him here to starve. He wouldn’t do something like that, Robin reasons. If he wanted the boy dead he’d have killed him in his sleep. So what was he planning, leaving Robin alone? Was it a test to see if he’d escape, or just another way of breaking him?

Robin wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of calling out for help. He paces the small cell instead, dizzy from hunger. How long had he been here, falling in and out of sleep? It had to be at least a few days.

He taps against each wall to see if there were any hollow spots between studs; it felt like solid concrete. He rips a hole in the mattress to fashion a lockpick from the springs; it’s foam all the way through. He braces himself against the wall and pushes against the toilet to try and pry it loose; it doesn’t budge.

Robin rips some of the foam from the mattress to wrap around himself as a makeshift blanket. He crowds himself into the corner, determined to outlast Slade. Of course that was the man’s plan: make Robin so delirious with hunger he’d agree to anything. He leans back against the hard wall, head throbbing. His stomach had long since passed hurting, and instead felt like a dull weight. Even knowing exactly what Slade was doing, Robin was powerless to stop it. His head feels heavy, a migraine pressing against his eyes. His mouth feels dry and sandy.

Robin falls asleep again, and doesn’t have the strength to dream.

He awakens to the worst stomach pain he’s ever felt. His body feels too hot even in the chilly room, skin clammy and sunken. Robin tries to stand and nearly passes out; he crawls instead on his hands and knees to the cell’s door.

He doesn’t want Slade’s help. He doesn’t want the man coming near him, even with food and water. A blanket. A real bed. Robin’s mind drifts from thought to thought aimlessly, finally settling. Who would be there to stop Slade if he died? If the villain really let him starve to death here, there’d be no one else to fight him. No one matched Slade like Robin did. He needs to eat. He needs even a drop of water to drink.

He knows, in some part of his mind, that this is what Slade wants. He pictures the man waiting for him to scream out, febrile and parched, for mercy. Slade would saunter up to the bars and pull him up to his knees, make him beg for something to drink. He would laugh at Robin’s desperation, chastise him for waiting so long, grab Robin’s hair and pull him flush against Slade’s cock, make him work for it.

Robin shakes the thought from his head. He’d never, Slade would never… why was he thinking like that? God, he’s going to die here, feverish with mixed up thoughts about a man he wants dead. Robin laughs despite himself. How crazy was he? A few days, Robin thinks, just a few days in solitary confinement, and he’s ready to blow someone to escape. There’s not even a guarantee Slade would come when Robin called; he could be waiting for Robin to pass out to make another move. He didn’t have the strength to consider any other options, deciding to play right into Slade’s hand. He could play the man’s game if it got him food and water.

Robin rests his head on the cold floor in front of the bars and steels himself to finally croak out Slade’s name.

 

~

 

The silence in the tower is overwhelming, hanging in the air like a thunderstorm. Cyborg sits at the computer all hours of the day, combing through security camera footage and radio chatter for any sign of their leader.

Former leader, Cyborg thinks. Until Robin returns, he’s the leader.

The thought chills him. He wouldn’t dream of abandoning the team during a crisis, but stepping up in Robin’s place feels wrong somehow. He had always wanted to lead them, but not like this. Not at the cost of Robin’s life.

Starfire would yell at him if she caught him thinking like that. “Robin is alive!” She insists. “Even when he was working with Slade, he was doing it to protect us. I am sure this is the same!”

After the third day of no sleep, plugged into a power source to recharge but working through it, Cyborg begins to lose hope. He would never admit it to the team, but with no leads he fears the worst; Robin could be dead or dying and there was absolutely nothing they could do about it.

Cyborg hates to think about it. He wonders, if their roles were reversed, how Robin would handle the situation. He’d continue to lead easily, he’d search for whatever member of the team was missing and not stop until they were found. If it was Cyborg gone, Robin wouldn’t rest until he was safe. He was a good leader; he was Cyborg’s best friend. The least he could do for Robin was not give up hope. He could at least keep the Titans together, morale dipping.

It’s this thought that leads him to call Bumblebee. She answers immediately, face projected on the screen in their common room.

“Hey Sparky, what’s up?” She asks. Behind her, the twins are braiding Aqualad’s hair. When they catch sight of who she’s speaking to, they rush the screen.

“Señor Cyborg! Que tal?” They speak in unison, their childlike grins showing off the gap in Menos’s teeth and Más’s dimples. If he were in a better mood, he’d try to speak Spanish back to them, a small gesture they seemed to appreciate. Unfortunately, he wasn’t feeling up to it.

“Things aren’t going great around here, Bee. Robin’s missing.” Cyborg’s voice is somber, edged with the sadness that’s weighed on him for days now.

“Oh, no,” Bumblebee says. “You haven’t heard from him? Are you sure he’s not… don’t take this the wrong way, but are you sure he hasn’t disappeared on purpose?”

“We took on Slade together last time. Robin wouldn’t do this again, he knows better than to try and shoulder everything himself.”

Bumblebee runs a hand through her hair. If she’s unconvinced, she doesn’t voice it.

“You should have called sooner. We could have helped you search.”

“... That would have made it official.”

“We can be out there in a day, help pick up the slack with patrols. Robin was quick to come to our aid when Brother Blood attacked our tower. We’re more than ready to do the same for all of you.”

Speedy slides into the frame, elbowing Bumblebee out of the way. If his confident expression is any indication, the news doesn’t bother him.

“Robin’s a tough guy- _almost_ as tough as _yours truly_ . He’ll be fine, don’t worry so much,” his grin falls into a more serious scowl. “And you look like you could use some serious rest, anyways. We’ll be there, Cyborg, just remember to take care of yourself, man.” He ends on a sincere note, offering the most reassuring smile he can. Bumblebee rolls her eyes and shoos him away, mumbling a sarcastic _thanks_.

Speedy’s words of comfort do little to ease the tension in Cyborg’s temples. The huntsman's voice sounds similar to Robin’s, and even a ghost of his presence is enough to remind Cyborg how much he already misses their former leader.

“Thanks, you guys. I’ll see you soon.”

Bumblebee waves silently, reaching down to end the transmission. Though, before she can press the button, Más and Menos bolt to the camera, desperate to get in their last words.

“ [Goodbye Señor Cyborg! We love you very much! We cannot wait to see you again!]”

Cyborg can’t help the small smile that graces his lips. An amused huff of air leaves his nose at their youthful enthusiasm. So innocent, that pair.

“[I love yall, too. Take care.]” He ends the call himself, then rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. Sitting hunched over the computer for endless hours has locked his joints into place, and his eyelid is weighing heavily, drowsiness dragging him down. Maybe Speedy was right. He should probably get some proper rest, and throw in a shower and a replenishing meal as well.

Cyborg orders a few pizzas, calling the team on the intercom to let them know. “We deserve a treat. I got the girls a pepperoni, cheese for BB, hawaiian for Rob--”

It was their usual order. “Hawaiian for me, I guess. We’ll save him a slice, right? He’ll be back before it gets cold.”

Before he lets himself feel too badly he goes to shower. The water is scalding, almost too hot for his human side. He feels like collapsing on the tile, just letting himself stay hidden from the world. If he doesn’t think about it, in here everything feels normal. Robin might as well be waiting outside the door for him to finish, joke about taking up all the hot water.

Cyborg sighs.

His friends have been hurt in battle before. They’ve been beaten bloody, attacked and scared, but they’ve always stuck together. Thinking about losing one of them, if Raven had really fulfilled her father’s prophecy and died, if Starfire had taken her sister’s place and sent to some distant planet, if Beast Boy had been hurt or kidnapped or killed-- it makes Cyborg feel sick.

They’re heroes. They’re prepared to die in a fight to make the world better. So why hadn’t he considered before he could lose them? Sometime between the time he had joined the titans and now he’d grown up. He should have adjusted better, couldn’t let go of the childish ideas he held. Being a hero was supposed to be fun. It was supposed to be something that made him feel good, that made him feel like he belonged to a family. He had more than friends; he had people that could look at him and see more than a half-robotic monster. They saw him as family.

What good was a family that couldn’t keep each other safe?

When Cyborg gets out of the shower the pizza has already arrived. Starfire is already seated around the meeting table, Raven pulling out a chair and Beast Boy serving himself a slice.

“Cyborg! You were right, the pizzas are a great way to have a night of glueing the team together!”

“ _Team bonding_ , Starfire.” Raven says, reaching for a slice. “But thanks, Cyborg. We needed this.”

“I know everyone’s been… bummed, since Robin disappeared. I’m trying my best, but I know I can’t replace him. That’s not my goal.” His voice is so mournful, like the very thought of taking Robin’s role is too much.

“Dude! We’d never think that!” Beast Boy says. “You’re a great leader!”

“Robin would want you to take charge in case something like this happened. You shouldn’t feel bad for doing what he wanted.” Raven says between bites, as though it’s obvious. Cyborg envies her; his own emotions have been so conflicted he’d give anything to have Raven’s clarity.

“I guess not,” Cyborg says, taking a seat at the table. “Robin would whoop my butt if he knew I was turning down pizza for his sake, right?”

“Yeah,” Beast Boy agrees. “He’s gonna be way mad when he gets back and sees us all moping around. I bet he’s gonna bust in all pow, kick! Titans, I’ve been deep undercover helping Batman himself! I need your help to take down an entire army of robots! Kaboom, kick, punch, Justice League!”

He mimes fighting. Starfire erupts into laughter and Cyborg chuckles. Even Raven cracks a smile and for the first time since Robin disappeared, Cyborg feels normal.

 

~

 

Robin hears footsteps. He opens his eyes blearily, lifting his head from the bliss of the cold concrete floor.

“I was getting worried you wouldn’t call for me,” Slade says above. Robin sees double, wondering if it’s fever or hunger causing it. He thinks he’s getting well acquainted with the sight of Slade’s boots, and the thought makes him smile. It’s hilarious, being here. Robin laughs.

“Slade, please.” He croaks, voice cracked with thirst.

“Good boy, all you had to do was ask.” Slade unlocks the cell door and Robin thinks to fight, to run, but his legs don’t move. Even picking up his head was too much effort, and he allows Slade to haul him to his feet.

“Can you walk, Robin?” Slade asks. “Or should I carry you?”

A swell of pride courses through Robin. He can try harder. “I can walk,” he rasps, shaking Slade’s hand from his arm. Robin takes two steps forward on unsteady legs before his knees buckle and the ground rushes up at him. He braces for the impact, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, Slade hurries to catch him, grabbing Robin around his waist before he can hit the floor.

“Poor boy. So prideful, aren’t you?” Robin has known him long enough to hear the affection in his voice. He must have done something right, didn’t give up too soon but didn’t wait too long. It’s a small victory for Robin and a large one for Slade.

Robin is all but limp when Slade hoists him against his chest and begins to walk.  The longer it takes, the more he allows himself to seek the man’s warmth after being in the cold cell so long. Slade must feel how feverish his skin is and raises one hand to the nape of his neck, a seemingly soothing gesture.

He leans into it. Robin remembers the many times Alfred would nurse his wounds and tend to him when sick. It feels the same, somehow, like both men knew Robin needed a kind hand to heal. The comparison leaves him shivering.

“Bruce,” Robin says against Slade’s chest. It dawns on him that the man isn’t wearing armor, no chestplate or weapons to feel.

“Tell me, boy, was it the Bat who came to your aid just now?” Robin is pressed so close he feels the rumble in Slade’s chest when he speaks.

“He’ll come… my friends…”

“It’s been days, Robin. Your friends have given up on you. Your daddy doesn’t want anything to do with you. But me?” Slade drops Robin on the floor in a heap. He lands on his shoulder and rolls, groaning with the movement. Every part of his body aches.

“Me, dear boy, _I_ would have cut a swath against anyone who would take you. I would not _abandon_ you like the Bat did. You deserve better, _Robin_ , my Apprentice.”

Robin can only moan with pain. More shivers wrack his body. A part of his mind, pavlovian, long dormant, answers automatically. “Master, please.”

“Good boy,” Slade nearly sings. The room he’s picked out for Robin is nearly identical to his own, opulent bed but sparse for much else. An IV drip waits next to it, bag filled with swirling orange fluid.

Robin notices when Slade picks him up and tucks him into the bed, but not when the needle pierces his arm.

He sleeps.

When he awakens, he feels almost euphoric. The pain from his limbs is gone, replaced with a light feeling, like he needs to focus to keep them from floating upwards. His head no longer aches, and instead feels like a buoy on his shoulders, bobbing back and forth. Despite this, he has no dizziness or nausea, and his fever from earlier seems to have broken as well.

The entire ordeal feels far away, like a nightmare half-remembered. What had he done the last few days? What had he ever done? Robin felt like Robin, partly, but couldn’t remember who that was. He blinks.

He had been around Bruce long enough to know when he was drugged. But who was Bruce? He was a father… no, Robin thinks, a teacher. He taught Robin what to do when he was in a situation like this… what did he teach?

The gaps in his memory should worry him, and he knows that, but they don’t. He can’t bring himself to care, not when he feels safe and happy. As far as Robin is concerned, he can spend the rest of his life feeling blissful in this giant bed, die right here between the soft pillows and duvet, and be okay with it.

Robin dreams of his friends. It doesn’t last long.

He’s slapped awake.

“Wha--” he manages, bolting upright. It makes his vision cloud to move too quickly. His mouth feels like cotton.

“I gave you a saline drip, but you should still drink something.” Slade tells him, a bottle of water held an arm’s length away. Robin takes it without thinking, downing the entire thing without pause.

“What did you drug me with?” He asks, head still buzzing warmly. The feeling of safety had carried over from his rest, holding him back from true anger. Why was he so upset at Slade? Robin tries to think through the haze.

“A combination of things. A short acting benzodiazepine to help with your pain. An empathogen. Ethyl carfluzepate. All in small doses, of course.”

Robin wracks his brain. He doesn’t know any of what Slade’s described. “I don’t want… I need to get home.”

“Oh, my dear boy, you _are_ home.” Slade seems to assess him, narrowing his eye. Then, he crosses the distance between them and cups Robin’s cheek. It’s the ghost of a feeling Robin’s felt before, in his sleep or too long ago to remember. Either way, he tilts his head into the hand and sighs. He’s home.

“We have a lot of work to do, my boy. Let’s get you up for the day.”

He takes the IV from Robin’s arm and helps him to his feet. Robin shuffles alongside him, swaying slightly when he tries to walk on his own. He’s led to a large open gym space, bars and weights pushed to the wall and weapons hung around him.

“First day of training, Apprentice.” Slade says, pushing him to the center of the room. The mats underneath his feet give him a bounce to each step, making it harder to balance. He hears metal shifting behind him before his feet are swept from under him.

Robin lands hard on the ground. A metal staff clangs downward next to his head, making his ears ring. The sound clears his head enough for him, on instinct, to roll away from a kick heading for his abdomen.

“Good boy,” Slade says. “Even incapacitated you still have a will to fight.”

Fight. Robin could fight. He had to fight, didn’t understand the pull completely but felt its strength.

He hates this man. He has to fight.

Robin makes a dash for the closest wall and grabs a staff similar to the man’s own. It feels light in his hands, easy to wield. He’s done this before. He’s fought this man before. He’s fought _Slade_ before.

The flighty parts of Robin’s mind coalesce into a true memory, the feeling of Robin’s bo staff striking Slade’s. It grows, connects to more pieces of images, bits of sound and feelings. This was Slade. He was a murderer, a mercenary. He had tried to kill Robin before; worse even, he had tried to kill Robin’s _friends_.

Robin yells. He rushes Slade, bringing the staff down towards his head. Red clouds his vision, hot rage boiling in his stomach. Slade blocks the obvious strike easily, sending Robin backwards.

“Slade!” Robin yells, unable to articulate much more in a blind fury. He’d been kidnapped, drugged, abused… and all for what? So Slade could keep him for fighting practice?

“If you’re seeing clearer, Robin, then your strikes shouldn’t be so sloppy.” He uses the staff for leverage and kicks straight into Robin’s chest.

It knocks the breath from him, rattling his head as he hits the ground. Slade doesn’t follow up with an attack, and Robin slowly rises to his feet. “You called me Apprentice. You still think I’d follow you? You can drug me, you can starve me, beat me… but I’ll never be what you want me to be.”

Slade lunges for him, staff catching Robin in the side and sending him to the floor once again. He tries to rise but Slade drives a knee into his gut. Robin heaves, eyes tearing up. He curls onto his side and rolls onto his back. Slade rests one boot on Robin’s throat, pinning him to the floor. Robin curls one hand around it to shake him off; it presses harder and Robin sees stars.

“I’ll never be your apprentice,” Robin smiles, pride making him say exactly what he knows Slade would hate the most. For a moment, the pressure on his neck eases and Robin thinks he might have won, another of Slade’s tests he passed being willful. Slade will throw him back into the prison cell and he can think of another way to escape.

Then, Slade’s putting his weight back down onto Robin’s windpipe, a sharp pain shooting through him. He tries to gasp but his throat is sealed and nothing enters; he tries to cough and finds he can’t. Robin’s eyes water again, tears spilling down the sides of his face without his control. He pushes desperately against Slade’s leg, grabs his ankle and squeezes as best he can.

Slade raises his foot long enough for Robin to suck in a single painful breath before he’s pressing down again.

“You could have done this the easy way, Robin.” Slade says collectedly, like Robin is no more a problem than an insect under his shoe. “Always so willful. So spirited. I can appreciate that, in theory, but in practice I won’t have such disobedience.”

Robin’s vision darkens around the edges and the pain at his throat scares him. Slade wouldn’t actually crush his trachea, right? His tongue works at his lips, trying to form half coherent words. When Slade lifts his shoe, Robin gurgles. He coughs wetly, and Slade removes his foot entirely, letting Robin roll on his side. Grabbing his throat, he can feel the metal ridges the boot had imprinted in his skin. He inhales raggedly and coughs again, pain lighting up his spine.

“Do you understand me, Apprentice?” Slade asks, toeing at Robin’s cheek to turn him upwards.

Robin tries to respond, but only coughs. He settles and shakes his head yes. Slade seems pleased.

“Good boy. Let’s get you back to your cell and we’ll see about earning your _proper_ room back sometime in the next few months.”

 _Months_ , Robin thinks. Months to secure Slade’s favor enough for a real bed to sleep in. He didn’t want to be here for another minute, let alone _months_. Would Slade let his guard down in that time? His only leverage over Robin was the boy’s confinement; he wasn’t playing Slade’s game to protect his friends this time. Robin’s choices were his own.

Could he pretend long enough for Slade to leave him an opening?

Breathing shakily, every deep inhale sending a spike of pain through him, Robin raises to his knees. “I’m sorry.” He grits, not bothering to hide the vitriol on his tongue. After a moment he adds hastily, “Master.”

He doesn’t look Slade in the eyes. “Good try, Robin. You’ll have to work a little harder for me to believe you.”

Robin hates the man’s arrogance. What did Slade expect, bringing him here? For Robin to roll over and obey whenever Slade asked?

He’s a psychopath, Robin thinks. Of course that’s what he expects.

Swallowing down years of obsession, anger, compulsion, all directed towards Slade, Robin tries again. “I’m sorry, Master.”

Slade strokes his hair before kicking Robin backwards. He catches himself on his elbows, watching as Slade fastens a pair of metal shackles around his ankles, connected by chains.

“Show me with your actions, Apprentice.” Slade says. “Hands out.”

Robin takes a moment to get to his feet, difficult with the iron binding. He presents his arms to Slade, palms down. Slade fastens another pair of cuffs around his wrists, tight and unmoving.

“Good boy, already learning.” Slade says. “I’m a compassionate Master, Robin. You’ve earned yourself a blanket for the night.”

Robin tries to reason that he shouldn’t be so overjoyed at the small kindness. Slade tugs on the manacles at his wrists and pulls him forward, steps small to accommodate the restraints at Robin’s ankles. Each step rubs the metal roughly against his skin and he knows it will blister sooner rather than later. When Slade tugs on his handcuffs, the steel bites into his wrist like a knife. Robin feels a sick connection between his captivity and the sting of the shackles: it would only get more painful the longer it went on.

Robin tries to memorize the layout Slade’s lair, but can’t keep track of the path Slade takes, looping around and backtracking to deliberately confuse him. He notices not a single window. Were they underground? Were they even still in Jump City?

Eventually Slade leads him back to his cell. It looks the same as when Robin left it, save for the repaired hole in the mattress and a single blanket resting folded on top. He pushes Robin through the door and locks it behind him.

“I’ll be back with food when you call for me, Apprentice.”

Robin says nothing and watches Slade go, resting on the bed again. It was still cold, even under the blanket, but it felt infinitely better than going without. He drifts off, exhausted, the adrenaline from earlier wearing off. His last thought before falling asleep is that Slade had a blanket waiting in his cell for his return; he knew exactly what Robin would do and had already planned for it.

The thought scares him, so he ignores it, and falls easily asleep. 


	2. The Bite on Above But Would Never Fall In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin's real training begins while his friends do their best to cope. Slade sucks

“We could ask Seymour to help! His X-ray vision could come in handy, scanning buildings for the Boy Wonder himself. He should take a few days off from his boring job anyways.” Jinx suggests. 

Bee taps her chin in thought. 

“Although that is a good idea, Seymour  _ did _ ask that we leave him out of any Titan business, no matter what. World ending disasters be damned. I wouldn’t want to go back on my word…”

“Fine, have fun being at a major disadvantage, then! I did my best!” Jinx huffs and crosses her arms, pouting. Kid Flash snickers behind his hand. Bee stands with her hands on her hips. 

“You don’t like Robin, anyways, so there’s no point in you coming. Don’t act so moody about it.”

“Well, you don’t like him either,” Jinx sneers, sticking her tongue out like a brat. 

“Wh-Hey! I  _ never _ said that!” Bee exclaims, blushing at being called out. Was her distaste for the boy wonder  _ that _ obvious?

“You didn’t have to say it, Bee,” Aqualad says from his position on the couch. “You might as well be biting Cy’s head off every time he talks about Robin.” 

Bumblebee means to say something in response, but Aqualad begins in a falsetto impersonation of her voice. “Oh, Sparky! You’re too good a leader, tell me about those combat techniques you used! Tee-hee! You deserve a  _ real _ man! One that’s big and strong and has long gorgeous hair like my totally-not-secret girlfriend!”

“I don’t talk like that,” Bee says, trying not to glare. “If I want better for him, it’s only because Robin pulls shit like this constantly. Who just up and abandons the team they’re supposed to lead? It’s beyond selfish!”

“Hey…” Speedy says. “We don’t know for sure he made the choice to leave. Cy seems to think that Robin’s been kidnapped, and the only person who’s ever pulled that off is Slade, who’s kinda dead-set on killing all of us. He might not even be…” He trails off, and the atmosphere in the room darkens. 

“Just don’t talk about him like that until we know for sure, is all I’m saying.” Speedy finishes, rubbing the back of his neck. He hadn’t meant to bring them all down, but reality wasn’t so easily pushed aside. For all they knew, any of those theories could be true. 

“Schrodinger's Robin.” Jinx shrugs, trying to lighten the mood. “Can’t focus on the worst case if we don’t know it’s true yet. All we can really do for now is help out our friends.”

“You’re right.” Bee says. “From now on, all our energy goes to helping the Titans West however they need us. I want everyone here to listen to Cyborg, do whatever he needs us to until this whole thing blows over.” 

Thinking it over, she adds “And try to refrain from talking about death around the twins. You know how they are about this kind of thing.”

“Sorry, mom.” Speedy says. “I forgot we have to wait until they’re 18 to discuss the _ very real  _ possibility that people around them can die.”

Bumblebee pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. “I don’t want to get into this right now. Just do what I asked, please.”

Speedy scoffs, mutters “whatever,” under his breath, but doesn’t press further. 

“Más! Menos! We’re wheels up in 30 minutes!” Bee yells. “Are you done packing?” 

The boys rush into the room stacked together, Más carrying a heavy duffle bag and Menos rolling a wheeled suitcase. 

“[ We’re ready for a long plane ride! Sleep mask, earplugs, ginger ale, a movie !]” Más holds up a portable DVD player with a movie already playing.

Speedy eyes them and gives Bumblebee a sideways glance. She ignores him. 

The ride over is smooth, disregarding the thick layer of anticipation that hangs in the air. Speedy polishes his weapons and listens to music in silence the entire ride. Más and Menos watch their movies and nap on and off. Aqualad and Bee talk over the coms in a private connection. They gossip, talk about the now, complain and laugh about daily events. Aqualad has always been the most level-headed member of the team, besides Bumblebee herself. She enjoys confiding in him for team issues. 

“You okay?” Aqualad asks. “You went silent on me.” She blinks. 

“Hm? Yeah, yeah. Just wondering how trashed the tower is going to get with those two idiots holding it down.”

“Hey, Jinx isn’t an idiot. Well, not as much of an idiot as Flash. But still,” Aqualad says. Then he laughs. “But she  _ is _ pretty irresponsible. The bad girl inside her lives on, I guess. I bet she’ll ditch tower duty and go shopping with Seymour. Maybe have a spa day. She’s been complaining about needing one for weeks now.”

Bee rolls her eyes. He was right; those two were definitely not responsible in the least. But dragging them along for this mission would have been even more of a disaster, so leaving them behind was best. And, although Jinx and Kid Flash were valuable assets to the Titans East, Bee felt this situation was too personal to bring along anyone other than the original team. 

“I’m sure they can last a few days. That is, if Flash doesn’t annoy Jinx into a murderous frenzy before we’re back.” She responds. They both burst into laughter.

The remainder of the trip after that is pleasantly smooth. The skies are clear, spirits are generally high, and the fact that they were seeing the west titans in person after roughly eight months was something she looked forward to very much, even if one of them was missing. 

But he wouldn’t be for long. Bee was confident that they would find him. She trusted in the skills of her team. Combined with the west wing, they could do anything. 

It’s almost sunset when they land on the top of the tower. Raven and Beast Boy are waiting for them, the latter waving animatedly as the aircraft hovers to the ground. 

“Hey, Ocean Man! Take me by the hand!” 

Beast Boy shifts into the form of an octopus, immediately slithering over to Aqualad, wrapping him in an eight-armed hug. 

“Hey Rae. It’s good to see you again, girl. Are Sparky and Star downstairs?” Bee flutters to the ground, her heels clicking against the cement. Raven nods, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. The wind is starting to pick up and the weather is quickly dropping as the sun sets, bringing an autumn chill with it. 

“Yeah. You can worry about your luggage later. Cyborg wanted to start dinner as soon as you arrived.” Her lips curls in slight disgust, “I hope you like meat.”

Bee grins, buzzing positively. “I love it.”

Meanwhile, inside the the tower, Cyborg hums an upbeat tune under his breath as he glazes the last bit of barbecue sauce onto the steaks. He plates the steaks onto eight platters, next to sides of buttered up baked potatoes and crispy seasoned broccoli. With much less enthusiasm, he slides a gross-looking, gelatinous chunk of tofu onto the last plate, shivering at the sight of its wobbling. 

His whistling continues as he saunters to the dining table, four plates on each arm. Starfire hovers behind him, balancing nine empty glasses in her arms. She smiles, content, as they set the table together. The Tamaranian, although not accustomed to earthly melodies, had always praised Cyborg’s singing. She follows along quietly under her breath as he begins humming a familiar tune. 

The soothing sound of Cyborg’s singing and Starfire’s attempted humming only lasts for a short while longer. As Cyborg sets the last fork down, a blur of red and white almost knocks him off his feet. Both he and Starfire yelp, taken off guard in their little moment of privacy. 

“SEÑOR CYBORG!” Two excited voices belt out. Más and Menos stop abruptly in front of him, their grins stretching from ear to ear. Cyborg recovers from his surprise quickly and matches their grins. He bends down and scoops them both into a hug, lifting them into the air and spinning. 

“Well if it isn’t my two favorite little speedsters in the world!” They cheer, giddy with laughter as he twirls them around. 

“Don’t let Kid Flash hear you say that.” Speedy snickers. Bumblebee, Aqualad, and Speedy stand at the main room’s entrance, Raven and Beast Boy off to the side. Cyborg lets the twins slide off of him, their bubbly laughter not dying down in the least. 

Bumblebee flutters to the dining table in front of Cyborg, raising her hand to meet his fist bump. 

“It’s nice to see you again, Sparky. Have you lost weight?” She knocks his chest, smirking. 

“More like, have you  _ gained _ weight? And by that, I mean, have you gotten taller? Or am I shrinking?” Aqualad asks, eagerly taking a seat next to Speedy at the table.

“All that time in the ocean’s got you pruning permanently, fish boy.”

That earns Speedy an elbow to the ribs. 

“Actually, I’ve upgraded a bit since the holidays. Got some new tech installed. Needed more space. Decided I’d rather be taller than wider.” He shrugs. “Not that any of you had a chance at outgrowing me before.”

He glances at the twins. They’re standing in awe and watching him with sparkling eyes. He smiles warmly. “Except maybe you two. At the rate you’re growing, you’ll be taller than me in less than a year!” 

They get a kick out of that. Más climbs onto Menos’s shoulders and pretends to shoot a laser beam from his arm, Menos clutching his stomach out of laughter. 

“[We have hit a growth spurt! Soon we will be tall! And faster! Longer legs for longer strides!]”

“Yeah, right.” Bee says. “Don’t let those little speed demons trick you. They’re wearing higher platforms than Jinx.” 

“[Hey! We  _ are _ getting taller!]” Menos argues. 

“[Yeah! Check the marks on the wall!]” Más adds. 

“Hey! Where’s my plate?!” Beast Boy cries, finally stumbling over to the table. Cyborg crosses his arms, pointing towards the kitchen counter with one hand. 

“On the counter. You’re lucky I didn’t throw it in the trash where it belongs! Bring it over yourself.”

Beast Boy grumbles and turns tail, sticking his tongue out at Cyborg over his shoulder as he grabs his plate. Their banter is all in good fun, though, for Beast Boy returns to the table immediately, eyeing his meal hungrily and licking his chompers. 

After a bit more joking around and settling down, the table is filled and dinner begins. Some of them - Cyborg, Beast Boy, and Speedy- are messier eaters than others, earning themselves groans of disapproval for their poor table manners. Más and Menos finish first, as is expected. Starfire, Aqualad, and Bumblebee take their time, too busy gossiping and giggling between bites to make hasty progress on their meals. Raven watches in silence with a pleased smile, a book floating next to her seat below the table. 

As Cyborg watches his friends- his family- talk and eat, he feels content. Then, spotting the empty chair at the opposite end of the table, feels guilty. Here they are, feasting and laughing together, as if one of their friends isn’t gone. For all they knew, Robin could be starving, hurting,  _ dying,  _ **_already dead_ ** \- No. He shakes his head and blinks to clear his vision. That was a slippery slope of emotions and unwanted thoughts that he did not want to travel down. 

He would let himself enjoy this floaty feeling for a few more hours. Robin would want him to… wouldn’t he? Cyborg knows immediately the answer is  _ No _ . He knows that Robin would spend every passing second searching high and low if any of them had gone missing. But Cyborg was not Robin. He is not the same man, nor is he the same leader. His team deserved a moment of happiness, and he was going to make sure they got it. 

Rising out of his chair, he holds up his plate. 

“Anyone want seconds?”

 

~

 

Robin doesn’t wait to call Slade this time. He awakens from a deep sleep, stomach ache rousing him before he’s gotten enough rest. He curls in on himself before sitting up, groggy. 

“Slade,” He croaks, voice coming painfully. His throat burns from Slade’s choking earlier, but he steels himself to work through it; he needs to eat. 

“Slade!” He tries again. It reminds him of being a child, sick in bed and hollering for Alfred to bring him food. He remembers the butler’s kind face, always there to help, to offer advice, to comfort. Slade would do none of those things. 

_ Neither would Bruce,  _ he thinks. At least Slade saw to him personally.  _ They’re not the same _ , he reminds himself.  _ Bruce helped me. Bruce fought for justice, for good. Bruce wouldn’t leave me for dead in a prison cell. _

Another part of him laughs.  _ Bruce has done the exact same thing to you, and you know it.  _

How was Bruce’s training any different from Slades? How many times had he been beaten bloody by his adoptive father in a desperate attempt to earn his approval? How often had Bruce withheld affection, praise, love from him until he fought hard enough to scar?

“Good boy,” Slade interrupts Robin from his thoughts. He holds a plastic tray in front of the bars. “Didn’t hesitate at all this time to ask for help.” 

“I was hungry.” Robin rasps. “Do you have water?”

Slade gives him a bottle of water and he gulps it until it’s gone. He hands the bottle back and Slade places the tray of food on the ground, still outside the bars. 

“Can I trust you to keep this outside your cell, Apprentice?” He asks. Robin, feeling the lingering burn in his throat, answers yes. 

“Good. When you’re finished we’ll start training for the day.” Slade walks off, leaving Robin alone with breakfast and his thoughts. It’s plain, two rolls of bread with some tomato slices and scrambled eggs, no utensils to eat with. 

Robin eats hurriedly with his hands anyway, memories he’d long since tried to forget bubbling to the surface. Once, Robin remembers, he had failed an easy mission so spectacularly that Bruce had locked him in the batcave with no food or water. He remembers being so hungry he started to eye the rats that scurried along the walls, mouth watering and hands twitching. Alfred brought him a hamburger a few days in, and Robin had nearly cried with happiness, up until the moment Bruce found out. He remembers that righteous fury, of an all-powerful parent being undermined. Robin had gone to bed hungry, waited a few days, and began to hunt the rats. 

Slade had brought him food, at least. 

He licks his fingers clean, almost doing the same with the tray before remembering Slade’s instructions to leave it outside the cell. He already feels better after eating, stomach calming and the ache in his limbs easing. The small headache that had begun when he woke up was completely gone.

He feels the front of his neck, hisses at the contact. His distorted reflection in the bars shows an ugly purple running the length of his throat, stark against his pale skin. Robin is no stranger to pain, but he hasn’t felt anything like this since he joined the Titans. 

The only person who had ever choked him before had been Bruce, during training. It didn’t bruise like this; Bruce released him when he submitted, saying something like “in a real fight your opponent won’t let you tap out,” and walking away, allowing Robin to feel the full weight of his failure. 

He hated submitting to Bruce because it was never what the man wanted. Bruce always wanted Robin to fight harder, better than he could. His best was never enough. 

He was never enough. 

Robin hates thinking about Bruce when he’s in such a dire situation. This isn’t the time to think about him, nothing to gain from opening old wounds. As much as it hurts him, Slade was right: Bruce wasn’t coming to save him. 

Robin still held out hope for his friends to show up. He entertained himself with the thought that they could burst through the wall at any moment, ready to break him out. Beast Boy would break through the concrete as a Rhino. Starfire would pry the bars apart with her alien strength, gasping quietly at the severity of his wounds. Cyborg wouldn’t let him walk, holding him against his chest and sighing softly. “We’re here,” Raven would whisper, the words holding an ethereal power coming from her, allowing him to feel safe enough to rest. When he woke up again it would be in his own bed, surrounded by his friends. 

Slade returns before long, retrieving the tray. “It’s good to see you can follow directions, Robin. I was beginning to worry even that was beyond you.”

Something in Robin snaps at the condescension. It reminds him too much of his former mentor, always disappointed at Robin’s best efforts. He couldn’t even get a break when he was doing exactly as Slade asked.

“You’re holding me in a frozen cage; I’m bargaining for my meals already. Don’t gloat about it, Slade. It doesn’t suit you.”

Robin hears the man laugh, surprising him. “Then tell me, dear boy, exactly what does suit me?”

He takes a moment to think, before rasping, “You give praise for success but you don’t condemn failure. You punish disobedience, but not failure. Not like…” he trails off. 

“Not like your last mentor?” Slade asks. “Does that surprise you, Robin? That my methods are less cruel than the Bat’s?”

“It doesn’t surprise me.” Robin says. “Bruce knew that people like  _ you _ wouldn’t fight fair and he trained me the same way. He had to make sure I’d survive.”

“You didn’t need that to survive, dear boy.” Slade unlocks the door, letting Robin shuffle awkwardly to the hall in his chains. “You have the instinct on your own. Brutality for brutality’s sake didn’t develop you into anything but an easier tool for the Bat to use.”

Robin laughs as Slade leads him through the halls to the gym. “You hate it, don’t you? Knowing he got to me first. I could have been a tool for you to use if he hadn’t instilled a sense of right and wrong into me, right?” 

Slade scoffs. “You think the Bat knows right from wrong? ‘Right’ isn’t adopting a child to prepare it for a life of vigilantism. ‘Right’ isn’t letting murderers live just so he won’t have to dirty his hands with the hard choices. At least I know I’m a bad person.”

“He’s not--” Robin starts, before a coughing fit overtakes him. 

“How many people would be alive right now if he’d killed the Joker the first time he struck? If he killed the mobsters he caught instead of putting them away, to blackmail and murder a certain bird’s parents?”

“T-that’s… n--”

“How many people have you and your  _ Titans _ killed, Robin? Innocent people, caught in your crossfire and cut down. Have you even spared a thought for the children buried under the rubble when your team destroys the city?” 

“Sto--” 

“You still consider the Bat morally higher than me? I am a mercenary, Apprentice. I kill warlords, corrupt politicians, I kill people who have already killed hundreds, thousands. I guarantee you, Apprentice, I’ve saved more lives doing things my way than you and your Titans ever did. Than your _ Bat _ ever will.” 

“Please,” Robin gasps, stopping in the hallway. His frame is wracked with each cough that tears from his throat. It burns. 

Slade says nothing but hands him more water. “Still feeling a bit raw from yesterday, Apprentice?”

Robin slowly regains his composure enough to spit. “I told you...the gloating doesn’t suit you.”

Slade laughs again, and they enter the gym. 

“You’re going to practice fighting at a disadvantage,” Slade tells him, taking down a metal staff for himself and discarding another bottle of water on the floor. “I’m sure the Bat had you doing this before.” 

“Never while shackled.” Robin rasps. He knows immediately how difficult breathing is going to be while fighting. The thought makes him wince. 

“You’ll do your best, Apprentice.” Slade commands. “I know you’re more than capable.” 

Despite himself, the compliment makes Robin’s chest swell with pride. He hates how much he craves the man’s approval, thinks of throwing the match just to make Slade regret ever believing in him. Slade would punish him for the disobedience, not the failure. 

It would still be a punishment. 

Instead, Robin squares his stance as best he can with his wrists cuffed and ankles bound. He can’t move his legs enough to really walk, so he absolutely couldn’t rely on kicks to take Slade down. He could swing his arms together to strike, but the momentum would make it awkward and the follow-through would throw him off balance. How did Slade expect him to fight like this and win? 

Slade doesn’t expect him to win, Robin thinks. Slade expected him to defend, to struggle, to make it entertaining. Robin narrows his eyes. 

“It’s always a treat to see the wheels turning in your head, Apprentice. Have you decided on a strategy?” 

“You don’t expect me to win, so it doesn’t matter what I do.” Robin growls. 

Slade strikes downward, the staff striking Robin’s raised handcuffs and dropping him to a knee from the force. “Sounds like a good way to lose a fight.” He swings the staff down again, Robin able to roll to avoid the impact. He would normally kick out to try and sweep Slade’s legs, but with his ankles bound he had no way to gain any leverage in the fight. 

Robin jumps to his feet instead, raising his hands in a laughable approximation of a fighting stance. He dodges another two attacks before Slade gives him an opening. 

Robin catches the edge of the staff in the chain between the two handcuffs and loops it around. Slade loses his grip and the staff goes flying into the air, Robin catching it easily. 

He wastes no time now that he has an advantage. Robin thrusts with the weapon as best he can, driving Slade backwards.

He dodges each awkward attack, Robin grunting and yelling with each effort to strike him. Slade doesn’t take his eyes off of Robin, just steps easily backwards to avoid the boy’s reach. 

Because of this, Robin finally gains the upper hand, Slade’s foot stepping on the water bottle he’d discarded earlier. His heel rolls out from under him and he falls backwards, landing on his ass unceremoniously. Robin jams the end of the staff under Slade’s chin, tilting it upward with a jerk. 

“What did you say about losing fights?” Robin asks. 

Slade kicks outward and then back, catching the chain between Robin’s ankles easily with one foot, knocking Robin to the floor as well. Standing, Slade snatches the weapon from Robin’s grasp and points it to Robin’s chest, pinning him.

“Nothing I haven’t already said about celebrating too soon.” Slade tosses the weapon away and holds his hand out for Robin to grab. 

Robin stares. 

Slade couldn’t be offering to help him up, right? After Robin had used his environment to pin Slade, he expected the man to be angry he didn’t fight fair. 

_ No _ , Robin thinks,  _ that was the point _ . Slade is proud. 

His  _ Master _ is proud of him. 

The thought runs down his spine with a shudder as Robin grasps Slade’s hand and is helped to his feet. Slade removes the bottle from the ground and tosses it to Robin to drink. “You did well, Apprentice,” Slade says. There’s fondness in his voice, as though he’s amazed at Robin’s continued ability to surprise him. “Keep it up and you might have a chance at beating me while unbound.”

The praise goes to Robin’s head, against his will. He hates the feeling of accomplishment Slade can so easily give him. Instead of soaking in it, Robin squares his shoulders and says, “Let’s go again.”

Under the mask, Slade smiles. 

The rest of training passes quickly, Robin sore from compensating for the chains for so long. Hours pass and they begin to bite into his wrists and ankles, drawing blood and making Robin hiss with each movement. When Slade decides they’ve finished for the day, he walks them both past Robin’s cell and into a new room. 

There’s a showerhead on one wall, a sink on the other, plain concrete with a drain on the floor. There are no mirrors to allow Robin to see his own face. 

“I can unlock your restraints and you can make this easy, or you can make trouble for yourself and I can wash whatever blood I spill down the drain. Your choice.”

Robin’s entire body is sore, and his ankles hurt so much he’d do anything to be out of the chains, even briefly. 

“I won’t be a problem.” He rasps. 

Slade unlocks the chains on his ankles and then his wrists, inspecting the wounds. “I’ll dress these when you’ve finished showering.” 

Robin wants to thank him, but keeps his mouth shut. Instead, he turns away from Slade and removes the tight black shirt, throwing it to the side. He looks back to see if Slade left him to shower in peace, but the man hasn’t moved. 

“Aren’t you going to give me a little privacy?” Robin asks. He crosses his arms to cover his chest, the man’s intense gaze too much for him in such an intimate space. 

“Do you think you’ve earned privacy, Apprentice?” Slade says. “When you’ve earned my trust completely I won’t need to worry about watching you, will I?” 

Robin takes a minute before gritting out, “No, sir.” He turns on the water and waits for it to warm. At least steam could hide his form from the man, save him from the embarrassment of his worst enemy watching him rinse off. 

“You haven’t earned hot water.” Slade says. “All with time, Apprentice.” 

Robin wants to curse. He narrows his eyes and is happy that at least his limbs are free, before laying his mask on the sink and taking off his shorts. 

He keeps his back to Slade, cold water shocking his system but feeling so good after the hard workout earlier. He rinses his hair, scrubs the drying blood from his wrists and ankles, luxuriates in the normality of bathing. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend he’s at the tower, friends waiting outside the door, ready to spend time with him. 

Robin shuts the water off, wiping the drops from his eyes and putting his mask back on. Slade throws a towel to him, another kindness he wants to thank but doesn’t. There are clean clothes after that, a toothbrush and comb Slade says are kept in this room only, and before Robin knows it he’s being led back to his cell by one of Slade’s hands on his back. 

“Sit on your bed,” Slade says, shutting the cell door. Robin obeys, too tired to fight back. What would be the point? Constantly warring with this man who had total control over him, and for what? What could Robin even gain from fighting? He wasn’t going to escape any time soon. He’d have better luck placating Slade and waiting until he was allowed out on missions to make a run for it. He wouldn’t lose sight of his goal, just pretend for Slade’s approval. It was easier than disobedience. It was easier than punishments. 

Slade returns with food and medical supplies. 

“I’m going to tend to your wounds while you eat.” He says, stepping into the cell and locking it behind him. “If I get the barest hint you’re trying something, your cuts can always be made worse.” 

Robin shivers. 

The dinner is plain, but Robin eats heartily while Slade crouches next to him, applying salve then gauze bandages over each ankle. He offers Slade a wrist next, then the other, trying his best to eat as much as he could while being worked on. Robin resists the urge to lick the plate clean. The food continues to be the favorite part of his day. Robin’s head clouds with bliss, his aches beginning to abate and his wounds already feeling better. 

When Slade finishes with his last bandage, Robin feels good enough to say, throaty, “Thank you, Master.” 

Slade cups Robin’s cheek and he leans into it, only for the happiness at the contact to be broken by the sound of the handcuffs clicking into place again. 

“Wha--” Robin asks, wincing at the contact. 

“All with time, Apprentice,” Slade says, securing his ankles as well. “You’ll earn my trust enough soon, I’m sure of it.” 

Robin can’t explain the drop in his stomach, he can only feel the ache it brings. Of course Slade didn’t trust him enough yet, but why was that so upsetting? Why was he feeling such a pull to make Slade happy? Robin lies down, fighting off the twinge of guilt he feels from Slade’s distrust. It doesn’t make sense, Robin hates him, he hates him, he hates him…

Robin sleeps.  

Days pass in the same way, waking up, food, training, food, training, shower, food, sleep. Robin doesn’t know how much time has passed when Slade removes his shackles. He keeps himself in Slade’s good graces, earning a pillow and hot water for his troubles. Slade still keeps watch in the room with him, which Robin has gotten used to. He indulges in the small comforts Slade gives him, the hot water being his favorite. Whenever he does exceptionally well during their practice combat, Slade rewards him with a more extravagant meal. 

Over time, the wounds Slade so lovingly bandaged heal into thick scars, irritated by the weeks spent training in shackles. Each day in training brings new wounds all over his body, which bleed until Slade bandages them too; they too, heal slowly, reopened when Slade strikes him with the flat of a sword or the sting of a whip.

Robin’s hair has grown past his ears when Slade allows him to shower on his own. He thanks his Master for the privilege and sits on the floor while the water rains down upon his shoulders. Robin stares at his hands through the spray. 

It must be the newfound privacy that makes his hands stray lower. He tries to remember the last time he touched himself; it was a few weeks before he was taken. Sparring always got him riled up; the adrenaline of it, the push and pull of bodies, and the last time was no different. 

_ It was Cyborg he was sparring with _ , he remembers.  _ They were outside the tower, enjoying a warm summer night. A breeze was coming off the water _ , and Robin swears he can smell the air exactly as it was.  _ Cyborg wanted to test out a few new magnetic functions with his arm, and he kept taking all of Robin’s weapons from his hands with it. _

_ Robin fought barehanded then, drawing as close to his friend as he could to avoid Cy’s long range attacks. Cy had grabbed his arm and twisted, pinning Robin to his chest.  _

He palms himself under the water at the memory. Cyborg’s chest had been so broad, unyielding, and Robin wanted to press himself against it. He thinks of being pinned under Cy’s weight, to feel the hard strain of metal and steel, hear Cy breathe in his ear, “Apprentice.”

Robin exhales heavy.  _ No _ , he thinks,  _ not Slade.  _ His cock fills faster at the thought and he hates it. Robin switches his thoughts to the other teammates, easy fantasies to turn to when he knows them all so intimately, but each thought distorts back to Slade, Slade, Slade. 

He wants to scream. Slade is all he thinks about anymore, all he sees when he wakes up, and to be showing up in his fantasies now is more than Robin can take. He lets out a huff, annoyed, but resolves to at least relieve a little stress. 

Slade won’t find out, Robin thinks. There’s no harm in riding this out, he’s frustrated, he’s pent up. It’s a miracle he’s gotten this far without cumming in his pants while sparring.

Robin wraps a hand around himself and lets his mind wander. He thinks of Slade’s gaze on his body, following his form as he strikes a heavy bag or dodges an attack. He tips his head back onto the wall as he stretches his legs out, letting one hand cup himself while the other dips between his cheeks. 

He imagines it’s Slade’s fingers instead of his own, big and unyielding. Slade would pin him down, finger him until he’s begging. Robin craves it, allows his mouth to water at the thought of Slade’s other hand reaching for his dick, teasing him, asking, “Do you think you’ve earned that, Apprentice?” 

Robin whines. No one around to hear him, he gets bolder, talking to the fantasy he’s created. 

“Please,” Robin whispers, two fingers crooking inside himself while the other hand pulls at his cock desperately. “Ah, p-please, Master.”

It isn’t enough. 

He imagines Slade’s fingers withdrawing, keening at the loss before he feels Slade’s cock rub against him. He’d make Robin ask nicely to be fucked. Robin’s hand speeds up and he groans; Slade would see him, red-faced and panting, fucked out already before Slade even touched his dick, and slap him across the face until Robin’s eyes finally focused on him. 

Slade’s face. Robin groans at the thought of seeing Slade without the mask, watching his expression as he presses slowly into Robin’s hole, feels him hot and tight, so eager, so ready to please his Master. 

“Such a Good Boy, my apprentice.” Slade would say, taking his hips in a bruising grip to thrust harshly. He would tweak Robin’s nipples and suck and bite at his neck, leaving more marks for Robin to treasure later. 

Robin’s grip tightens and he draws his knees to his chest to get a better angle, finding his prostate and thrusting his fingers in a frenzy. He can almost feel Slade bite into his shoulder, can feel the snap of his hips, can hear Slade command in his ear, “Be a Good Boy and cum for your Master.” 

Robin shudders and obeys. 

His legs jerk as he cums hard, eyes closing, back arching and toes curling. He fucks himself through it, hips stuttering as he milks every drop with a whisper of, “Slade, Slade, Slade.” 

When Robin opens his eyes, he expects the man to be there. The shower remains as empty as ever, water beginning to grow cold. 

Robin washes himself thoroughly as soon as he can stand, his legs still shaky from the intensity of his orgasm. With it comes a bone deep tiredness, one that drags on him as he towels off and redresses, making his way out of the shower room and into his cell next door where Slade is already waiting. 

Robin can’t look him in the eye. 

“Did you enjoy yourself, Apprentice?” Slade asks, and Robin’s heart jumps at the implication before Slade adds, “You’ll earn more amenities if you keep up this streak of good behavior.”

Robin sighs. “Thank you Master. I appreciate your trust.”

“And I trust, then, that you didn’t take anything with you that you might be planning on using later?”

Robin had been so preoccupied the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. He hadn’t thought of escape in weeks. At least, he thinks it’s been weeks. “No,” He says. “No, I just showered.”

Slade cups his cheek in one hand and Robin’s face grows hot. “Good boy.” Slade says. Robin avoids eye contact and instead stares at the dinner Slade brought him. It’s a hunk of bread with some kind of stew, potatoes and chunks of meat in a hearty broth. Robin’s stomach growls. 

“Are you feeling alright, Robin? You’re red.” 

“Fitting,” Robin says, earning a small chuckle from Slade. “No, Master, I’m fine. Just hungry.” 

“Of course you are. You’ve improved so quickly, Apprentice, in such a short time. I’m proud of you.” 

Robin can’t hide the electricity that runs through him at the words. He drinks in the praise, letting himself smile. “Thank you, Master,” he says. How many times had he hoped for Bruce to say those words, only to be met with silence? “It means a lot to hear that.” 

“I know.” Slade says, closing and locking the cell door behind him. Robin waits for him to leave before devouring his meal, so eager to get to bed he doesn’t think about being allowed something new for dinner. 

It’s not until he’s in bed that Robin realizes Slade had given him a spoon to eat with. 

He moves to the bars to pick it up and cradle it in his hands, the first bit of hope of escape he had found in weeks, months. Robin studies it, food settling heavy and making him sleepy. He loves Slade’s food, loves how satisfied he could feel after a meal, loves--

Robin shakes his head. The spoon is a test, he knows it. Slade is going to check on him in the morning knowing that Robin could have hidden the blunt utensil--not a fork or a knife, those were too dangerous for a test like this--anywhere in the cell. Robin stares at his upside-down reflection in the metal. 

His eyes have bags under them. His neck still bares the discolored faded bruising from the first few days he was here. His hair was combed from his shower but now looked almost like a mullet, longer than he’d ever kept it before. 

Robin lays the spoon on the tray outside the bars. He won’t face a punishment for something like this. There’s a small voice in the back of his mind saying that he could pick the lock on the cell door and the hallway door, find his way through the labyrinth of hallways to the surface of wherever he was; that voice is easily silenced. 

Robin wouldn’t disobey his Master. Slade had told him he was  _ proud _ , and Robin feels in his chest how badly he wants to hear it again. He falls asleep thinking of Slade’s hand on his cheek, carding through his hair, brushing against his lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual all of the good parts were written by [REDACTED] and I apologize for the slow burn. But it'll be worth it I promise. Come yell at me on twitter @buggoops


	3. All of My Goodness is Gone With You Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here's a short chapter of some gratuitous torture interspersed with cute interactions between the titans east and what remains of the HIVE. the timeline is sort of fluid but hey, brainwashing a murderpet takes time and energy and slade has a bunch of both, so it's been around 9 months since Robin went missing

Robin spends what feels like another few weeks doing his best to make Slade happy. 

It doesn’t take much. Praise slips from the man’s mouth earnestly, no desire to hide his satisfaction like Bruce so often did. Robin relishes it, giving in completely to Slade’s training. Thoughts of escape vanish from his mind; instead, he thinks only of doing what Slade asks. 

Robin earns a real mattress the same week he earns metal utensils, and soon after Slade stops sparring and introduces robotic replicates of himself for Robin to fight. The first day Robin fights two at the same time while the real Slade watches, the clones overpowering him easily. Robin goes to bed sore and embarrassed he had failed while he had Slade’s undivided attention. The next day he lasts longer against them but still finds himself pinned and flushed red with anger and humiliation.

It takes him another week until he can beat both of Slade’s duplicates with anything resembling ease. Slade ups the number to three, then four; more than two months later, he wins against a quintet after a hard battle. 

Robin beams at Slade’s loud, “Well done, Apprentice,” when the robots are laying in a heap of pieces on the floor. Slade crosses the room and embraces Robin in a hug, the first real contact he’d felt outside of fighting in months. 

Robin hugs back. It feels nice, it feels like he’s home, like he has someone who is proud of him. It feels better than good; Robin sighs,  _ knowing _ he’s done well for the first time in his life, no doubt in his mind. 

This is what Slade did to him; made Robin push through his own limits, become faster, stronger, better. When Slade breaks the embrace, Robin is still smiling. 

“You’ve earned a real reward, Robin.” Slade says. “Tomorrow brings more trials, but today you’ve proven yourself.”

“Thank you, Master.” Robin means every word. 

“There’s just one more thing I need from you before I consider you more than just a student.”

Robin answers without hesitation. “Anything, Master.” 

“Follow me.” Slade had let Robin follow him to a common room for meals whenever he had bested the man in combat. It hadn’t happened very often but it wasn’t unheard of; Robin thinks to himself that he’s earned a nice meal at least. 

Instead, Slade bypasses the common room and leads Robin down a set of stairs he had never seen before. More corridors pass before Slade opens a sliding metal door. The entirety of the room is a dark concrete. It looks nearly identical to the shower room in layout, drain on the floor and sink off to the side. 

The only difference is the metal chain ending in a hook in the center of the ceiling and the far wall, instead of bearing a showerhead, is lined in instruments that could either be for sex or torture; Robin isn’t entirely sure.

“Do you trust me, Robin?” Slade asks. 

He gulps. “Yes, Master.” 

Robin can feel Slade smile, hear it in his voice as he says, “Good boy. Your hands.”

Handcuffs, for the first time in months. Robin’s wrists had healed over, and his first thought is that he’d done something wrong to deserve this. Robin holds his hands out for Slade to secure, asking, “Is this a punishment?”

“No, dear boy.” Slade says, leading Robin to the center of the room and raising his arms to the hook hanging from the ceiling. Robin has to stand on his toes for the handcuffs to slide over it, effectively trapping him. 

“No, you’ve done nothing but make me proud. You’ve shaped up to be a brilliant Apprentice, Robin: cunning, strong, powerful. It makes me want to show you off, how easily you can stand by my side.” Robin’s chest swells with pride despite his current position. 

“I just need to give you one more test.” 

The phrase weighs on him. One more test. One single evaluation to pass and Robin would be done, would have all of Slade’s trust, his full and undivided attention. They would be  _ equals _ . Robin’s mouth feels dry, and he can’t remember the last time he said no to Slade, can’t even remember exactly why he hated the man. 

“A final check to your loyalties. You’re more than capable of holding your own against anyone I might ask you to. I just need to know you won’t hesitate to follow my orders.” Slade walks around Robin, appraising. 

He’d filled out with more muscle in the last few months, adapting to the harsh training Slade required. Robin’s attitude has completely changed, which Slade attributed to the cocktail of drugs Robin had been taking at every meal, devoted to his Master completely. Littered across Robin’s body were scars, already proof enough, to Robin at least, of his loyalty. He had allowed Slade to brand each failure into his skin, thinking the scars some kind of reminder to do better. When the man bandaged him each night, it only drove the point home. 

“I want you to kill the Titans.”

~

The air outside is crisp and chilly, and the wind is sharp and whips around the occasional downfall of snow. The remaining autumn leaves, brown and soggy, tumble around the people of Jump City as they walk, bundled up in heavy coats and scarves. The clouds that never seem to clear up dim the city, and it would be more dreary if not for the ever-busy spirit of the folks living here. 

An explosion rings through the air and five criminals burst out of the front of a bank, duffle bags of money in hand and getaway van already fired up and ready to go. The criminals at large are what remain of the H.I.V.E Five; Gizmo, Mammoth, Kyd Wykkyd, Billy Numerous, and Private H.I.V.E. 

“Haven’t seen these losers in a long time,” Speedy murmurs, nocking two arrows and firing, popping the back two tires of the van with ease. The van dips violently in the back and the villains flinch collectively, heads whipping around to find the source of the arrows. 

From atop the building parallel to the bank, Bumblebee and her team stay crouched low, hidden from the sight of those grounded. 

“Can’t say I missed them. I call the big guy!” Aqualad says to Bee’s left. To her right, Speedy bristles. 

“What? No way! What are you gonna do, throw snowflakes at him? He’s  _ mine.” _

“How about we fight them all as a team, hm? That sound good? Good. Because that’s what we’re doing. Come on, Titans, let’s go.” Bee slaps them both on the back and leaps off of the building. Speedy and Aqualad follow her lead and dive as well. Before the two men hit the ground, Speedy fires flaming arrows into the piles of snow, and the resulting groups of water rise to soften their landings. Bee lands gracefully with a flap of her wings, her zappers already pulled from their holsters and aimed at the criminals. 

“It’s too cold to be drenched in water,” Speedy complains behind her, teeth clattering. 

“At least  _ you’re _ not cold blooded. How do you think I feel?” Aqualad complains right back. 

Bee rolls her eyes, groaning. Always with the fighting, those two. They were such competitive dorks- a match made in idiot heaven. 

“Boys? Hello? We’re in the middle of a fight?”

“NOT FOR LONG!” The toddler looking one, Bee doesn’t remember his name, yells and pushes a button on his chest, growing eight feet taller as robotic legs sprout from his back. Mammoth pounds his fists together and Billy multiplies. Several of his clones run down the street with the bags of money in their arms, a wall of them forming to block off the road behind them. 

Standing there as a team, the HIVE Five would normally look threatening, except for the fact that they were, well,  _ themselves.  _

“Do they…. do they not know Jinx gave us all their biggest weaknesses?” Speedy whispers, barely containing his laughter. Aqualad snickers, and even Bee has to bite her lip to hold back a snort. This was going to be fun. 

“Guess not! Titans, GO!” 

Bee shrinks and hops onto Speedy’s drawn arrow, clinging tight as she’s shot towards Gizmo’s torso. It’s a miss, of course (he’s annoying but he’s still a  _ child _ , for Heaven’s sake) but it’s exactly where it needs to be. 

Bumblebee hops onto Gizmo’s back easily. The kid is too busy mocking Speedy for his “cruddy aim” to notice Bee digging into the machine on his back. According to the two reformed HIVE members, Gizmo’s technology relied on a core power source that was the size of a microchip. Bee squeezed into the tight gap between backpack and body, careful not to prod too much and alert the boy of her presence. 

Faintly, she hears the excited hollers and battle cries of her two boys, most likely taking the victorious side with ease. She smiles as she works, prying into the backpack’s inner wires. She is beyond thankful for this easy battle as a distraction from the past month and a half. Along with the naturally-lower crime rates that came with cold weather, villains have been more spacious with their attacks after the downfall of the Brotherhood of Evil. Searching for a missing person every day and ending up with empty hands was a huge depressor. At least with criminals to keep them distracted, they weren’t going crazy. 

Not that Bumblebee was thankful for crime, or anything like that. But when a gift is given, it’s rude to refuse it. 

Speaking of gifts, Bee grins and unwraps the wires that surround the chip like it’s a pretty present on Christmas morning. She takes it into her tiny hands and bends it in half, hearing a satisfying  _ snap!  _ Immediately Gizmo yelps and Bee zips away from him as he falls to the ground, his robotic legs malfunctioning. She hovers close enough just to make sure he doesn’t land too harshly, but thankfully the snow cushions his fall. To think she would ever care about the safety of a criminal, she shakes her head. 

But, unlike those rowdy teens and young adults he surrounds himself with, this little gremlin is still a child- younger than a certain pair of twins, even- and Bee has a maternal spot for any child, no matter how annoying or evil. But not too soft a spot for her to grow back to her normal size and tie him up his own tech, tight enough to ensure he can’t struggle or squirm free. 

“Ugh! Get your clammy paws off of me you pest! You ruined my tech!! How did you turn off my tech?!” He screams and whines as Bee flies him away from the fight, dropping him into the arms of a police officer that has freshly arrived on the scene. 

“Take care of him from here, Officer,” she says, saluting her. The lady nods and says thanks, but Bee is already buzzing back over to the fight. 

On the scene, Mammoth lies conked out on the ground, several Billy Numerous clones unconscious on top of him. Puddles of water and scattered arrows litter the road. Aqualad and Speedy stand back to back, alert. 

“Bee!” Speedy calls, “Took you long enough! We took care of these three while you babysat.  _ I _ took out the mammoth dude.”

“We took him out  _ together _ !” Aqualad argues.

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, pretty boy.”

Bee ignores the petty debate and joins their stance, backing up against them with her zappers aimed outwards. 

“We waitin’ for Wykkyd to appear?” She asks. They both hum in agreement. “Alright. Now let me ask, did anyone take down the clones that ran off with the money?”

“Oh shit,” the men say in unison. Bee rolls her eyes at them yet again, reaching up at her ear to tap into the coms. 

“Double M, you there?” 

“[ _ Sí! We are almost done with our sweep of the city! Empty as usual. No sign of Robin _ .]”

“What a shame. Think you can intercept some criminals for us? Billy Numerous clones with bags of money down-” She squints at a street sign, “Figueroa? Olympic? Somewhere around there? You won’t miss ‘em.”

“[ _ Of course! We will be there in a blink!] _ ”

The line cuts, leaving a silent crime scene. Cop cars surround the three heroes who stand in a triangle, their stances ready for a dark portal to open and ambush them. They wait.

The surrounding officers and straggling citizens on the city watch in anticipation. There are mourners and camera flashes, red and blue lights flashing. But no portals. 

They wait. 

And wait. 

And wait a bit longer. 

Speedy lowers his bow. 

“I think he ran away.”

“Aw, shit.”

Bee’s phone buzzes in her back pocket from an incoming call. She ignores it, refusing to lower her guard. Aqualad eyes her, curious. 

“Aren’t you going to answer it?”

“We are in the middle of a fight, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Just answer the phone. Even if he hasn’t run already, it’s still three against one.” Speedy even cocks his bow again to encourage her. 

She groans and pockets her zappers, then pulls out her phone. 

“It’s … Seymour? Hello-“

“ _ ARE YOU TRYING TO ARREST MY BOYFRIEND? _ ” 

Bee flinches away from the phone, holding it out and away from her ear. How in the hell would he even- she growls, almost crushing her phone in a death grip.

“ _ Seymour! _ You will tell us where he is right now, or I will haul ass over there right now and arrest  _ you _ , too.”

“But we were going to go on a date tomorrow! To a big fancy restaurant!”

“That explains him  _ robbing the bank _ .”

“Ooooohhhhhh…. Was he with the HIVE?”

“Yes, he  _ was _ . Until he portalled away and tried to get his boyfriend to save him!”

“You’re acting as if this is my fault!”

“It kind of is!  _ You’re _ the one dating a criminal-“

“Hey Bee? Can you cut the gossip?” Speedy interrupts, nudging her calf with his heel. She growls at the phone. 

“You little-! Stop distracting me! Tell me where he is or I’ll tell Flash to go over there and kick your scrawny little ass.” 

“ _ Eep!  _ Alright! I’ll ask him to turn himself in… I don’t know where he is, I swear! Pleasedon’thurtmebye!” 

The cyclops hangs up hurriedly. Despite the ridiculous scenario they’re in, Bee laughs and runs a hand over her hair. It feels like a normal day fighting crime in Steel City, like they’re home and fighting as Titans East and not ‘Temporarily Titans West’. Shaking her head with a smile, she draws her zappers again. 

“What a day.”

Kid Wikkid appears in minutes, silent and compliant, his hands already held out and ready to be bound in power-nulling handcuffs. 

Más and Menos join the scene shortly after all the villains are comprehended. Más drags several bound clones behind him and Menos drags a line of money bags behind him, bound together with rope as well. They dump their prizes in the pile of unconscious villains, cheering and jumping. 

Once the crime scene is situated and handed over to the police department, the east titans decide to go out for pizza. 

“That was actually kinda fun,” Bee says. She sits between Más and Menos, throwing her arms over their shoulders and pulling them closer. They giggle, mouths full of pizza drenched in tabasco sauce. Across from them, Aqualad and Speedy nod. Speedy is sitting sideways on the bench, his feet in Aqualad’s lap. The other man doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Was nice to do somethin’ besides patrol for once. I haven’t been able to shoot at anything living in  _ centuries _ .” Speedy says over a full mouth of cheese. 

“Yeah, I see what you mean. You’re getting soft, buddy,” Aqualad teases and pinches his arm. Speedy scoffs, but smiles nonetheless. 

The warmth of the restaurant soothes all of their cold cheeks as they fill up on greasy pizza. It’s nice just spending time with family, and for the moment Bee feels like she’s back home, enjoying a meal in Steel City after a tussle with some low-life villain. 

Without meaning to, she sighs, resting her chin on a propped up palm. 

“What’s got you down, Bee?” Aqualad asks. 

“Nothin’. Just missing home, is all.”

They all groan in agreement. 

“I mean, it’s been almost two whole months. You’d think Sparky would have realized…”

“Realized what?” The twins echo. 

“Nothin-“

“-That Robin isn’t coming back,” Speedy interjects, stabbing his fork into the table. He glares at Bee, daring her to deny it. She knows he’s only acting difficult because the twins asked, but she can’t find it in herself to scorn him. 

“We don’t… we don’t know that.” She knows it’s pointless to deny it and argue. She knows that Speedy is right. There’s no use in sugar coating it. “He could still be out there. Maybe…”

“He is not! We have searched every single inch of the city at least one hundred times!” Menos pounds a fist onto the table in an angry outburst. 

Más whines, upset by the tense atmosphere. “I just want to go home already…” he mumbles, curling into himself. 

It doesn’t take much for everyone at the table to suddenly look miserable and homesick. Bee gnaws on her bottom lip. They’ve all given up, and she’s on the verge of joining them. 

“I want to go home, too. But we promised Cyborg we would help him and…” she can’t even finish the sentence. The dread has been eating at her for a month now, and it had only taken her one week in to realize this mission would end in failure. All this time she’s only stuck around because Cyborg was so determined. He was so hopeful, even though the chance of finding Robin was so slim. By now they were just torturing themselves with this. As leader, she just couldn’t subject her team to this anymore. 

But as Cyborg’s friend—

“I think we should go home.” Aqualad says it, knows that Bee can’t, and for that she’s thankful. He offers her a knowing glance. 

“Fucking  _ finally _ ,” Speedy moans, sinking into the bench like a balloon deflating. 

“Fucking finally!” Más and Menos repeat, earning a proud thumbs-up from their fellow redhead. 

“Wh- Hey! Watch your damn language! And don’t act so happy about that; we failed a mission. Don’t you realize how serious this is?” 

Speedy’s head falls back and he groans, pulling out an arrow and pointing it at Bee accusingly. 

“Of course I do. But we’ve been moping around for a month and a half for no reason. Robin would want us to move on, keep fighting crime instead of wasting time on him, or whatever. And it’s almost the holidays! I don’t wanna spend my Hanukkah around a bunch of Debbie downers.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you’ve done a great job helping Cyborg until now, Bee. But there’s only so much we can do here. They don’t need us in Jump City anymore.” Aqualad squeezes her hand reassuringly. She melts into the touch, feeling all of her resolve drain. 

“Alright. I’ll talk to him tonight. When we get back to the tower pack your bags and try not to do anything to upset Sparky. He won’t be happy to hear about us leavin’.”

Aqualad and Speedy nod in affirmation. 

“We’re going to the mall,” Menos mumbles, standing and grabbing Más by the hand as he begins to walk away from the table. Más stumbles after him, throwing an apologetic farewell over his shoulder before they’re gone in an instant. 

“What was that about?” Aqualad asks. 

Speedy chuckles. “The little squirt’s showing his rebellious side. I love it when they act like little teenage shits. Reminds me of myself when I was a young pup.”

Bee would have to agree, for once. “It  _ is _ nice to see they’re forming personalities outside of each other, finally. Let’s just hope they never have a sibling fight and refuse to use their powers.”

“I actually don’t think I’ve ever seen them fight. I used to fight  _ all _ the time with my little sister when we were younger. It was always over stupid things; who got the last cookie, who got to ride the best dolphin first — little stuff. We always made up, though,” Aqualad says warmly, reminiscent of his youth.  

“I wish they would at least put on some pants if they’re going to be running around the city.” Bee pouts. The twins refused to wear anything heavy, even as the weather grew colder. They argued that they needed to be light on their feet, that heavy clothes would only slow them down. But at least pants would cover them unlike those  _ shorts _ . Seriously, who wears shorts in the winter? 

“Woah, slow down those gears Mama Bee, there's smoke blowin’ out your ears.” Speedy twirls an arrow between his fingers as he teases her, obviously enjoying the show. Bee grumbles and flips him off, immediately switching to a polite smile when the waitress comes back with the check. 

“Just for that, you’re paying.” 

“Aw, man.”

~

“I want you to kill the Titans.” 

The words crack across Robin’s face. His blood feels like ice water in his veins, and he swears he can feel it travel from his core to his limbs, freezing them with fear. “No,” he says, shakily, hastily adding, “please, no, Master, anything but that.”

“I know you still think that they’re your friends, Robin, and I don’t blame you; I have people I’m attached to as well. Therefore, I want you to think very hard about this.”

“I don’t have to think about it, Slade, Master, I’ve done everything you asked. You can’t, please, I can’t… I can’t kill them, they’re my  _ family _ , they’re  _ good _ \--”

Slade pulls out photos, bringing the top one carefully to Robin’s face. It shows rubble, a collapsed building, all manner of emergency vehicles around it. 

“June of last year, Robin. Do you remember this?” 

Robin answers honestly. “No.”

“A man calling himself Arsenal robbed the bank across the street. In such a haste to stop him, your alien friend fired wide and weakened the structure of the apartments across the street. It collapsed on top of the families inside. 18 casualties.”

“No,” Robin says. “That wasn’t all her fault, Arsenal--”

“Arsenal escaped prison less than a month later, Robin. How much time did your friend serve for her hand in this?” 

“No, she didn’t… it wasn’t their fault, they’re not the problem.” 

Slade rolls his eye, grabbing what looks to be a whip from the wall. Clicking the end of it, the whip flashes with arcs of electricity; Robin jerks and tries to get down from his place strung up in front of Slade. 

“Stay where you are.” Slade commands, and Robin stops fighting. 

“Please, it’s not their fault,  _ Master _ ,” he stretches out the word, tries to make Slade hear the sincerity in it, as though bargaining could change his mind. 

Slade walks to Robin’s back and brings the whip down with a crack near his shoulders. Robin wails, muscles seizing from the electricity. It hurts, it hurts more than he thought it would, his entire body trying to escape the electricity.

The clicking of Slade’s boots is the only warning Robin gets before his hair is pulled, neck strained painfully backward so Slade can speak directly into his ear, low and deliberate. 

“You, my Apprentice, my Robin, are going to do what I ask you to.” 

“I can’t,” Robin howls. “Please!”

Slade releases his hair and brings the whip down over his shoulders again, Robin’s entire body drawing taut against the voltage. 

“You can.” Slade says. “You just don’t want to.” 

Walking to Robin’s front, Slade pulls out another photograph. “What about this, Robin? Do you remember this?” 

It’s another scene of destruction, a building burned to ashes. 

“No.” 

“October of this year. A group of H.I.V.E students raided a jewelry department. During the fight, one of your teammates broke the gas line. The building went up in flames. Ring any bells?” 

“No.” Robin says, shaking his head. “I didn’t think…” 

“The reason you don’t remember, Robin, is because it didn’t happen until after you were gone. The gas ignited the next day, burning the 23 staff members and patrons alive in an instant.” Robin’s breath catches in his throat.

“You don’t think someone should be held responsible for that?” 

“The H.I.V.E.? They’re just kids, they’re being used, they can  _ change _ . It happened before— I can’t… I can’t kill people who have just made one bad decision.”

“Right, your friend Jinx. Three years ago on the Jump City Bridge, she caused a massive collapse right before your friends arrived. Your friend Raven levitated 3 cars to safety. Do you know how many she missed?”

Robin’s chest feels tight, and he nearly sobs out, “Please, Slade.” 

“6 cars hit the water. A total of 10 people died, 2 of them children. They didn’t get a second chance, Robin.”

The deep ache in his chest grows, ending in a rattling wail. His head tips forward and tears of shame roll down his heated face. “Slade, Master, please, please,  _ stop _ . Anyone but them, I promise, please,  _ please _ .”

“Your former friends aren’t  _ innocent _ , Robin. All of you have blood on your hands. If I give you an order to kill, it won’t be your first; you already have a death count. You’re capable of killing them. You’re my apprentice, you are  _ mine _ , Robin, and you’ll  _ do as you’re told _ .”

His voice cracks as he answers, “I  _ can’t _ .”

Slade sighs, full-bodied. “I’m disappointed in you.” Robin doesn’t have a chance to feel the full weight of his failure when Slade brings the whip down against his chest in 3 quick strokes. It tears the cloth of his shirt where it strikes, and Robin can feel, even as his back arches from the painful shock, blood drip from lacerations. The pain brings more tears to his eyes, falling heavy down his cheeks. 

“I’m  _ sorry _ , Slade, please!” Robin sobs. 

“Show me through your actions, Apprentice.” Slade answers flatly. Slade brings the whip down again 2 more times, closer to his waist. Robin can feel his muscles tense when it hits, then stretch and relax when he lets his body sag. Arms above his head, bound completely, Robin feels like nothing more than a toy for Slade to make dance and sing with every strike of the whip. He yells with pain and seizes; close enough. 

Slade puts the whip down and takes two steps forward to cup Robin’s cheek; he flinches. “Dear boy,” He says quietly. “What’s stopping you from obeying completely?”

Robin leans into the touch and thinks. 

His friends, morality, Bruce, nothing, everything, all possible answers. “I can’t kill them. I’ve never… I can’t, not my friends. I’ll do anything else, anyone else, I can’t. Please, Master, I can’t.”

“You keep saying can’t as though you really believe it.” Slade clicks his tongue in dissatisfaction. “A little more, then.” 

Slade cracks the whip across his chest again. Robin swears he can feel his skin flay where it hits, electricity coursing through him. When he drops his head, body slumping, too tired to even stand properly, he can hear Slade walk behind him. 

The whip strikes again, and more follow. “We’ll keep trying, Apprentice. I know that you'll make the right choice, eventually.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you [REDACTED] for writing all the good parts and letting me post this. i like to think during this time slade's just building a harem of young mercenaries he's groomed, like Rose and Terra and Joey are just chilling out in other rooms because they're all past the brainwashing thing and are just. ready to kill for slade already


End file.
